Is Forever Really That Long
by PissyNovelist
Summary: Bruce Wayne, by some incredible circumstance, has fallen in love with the man known by society only as the Joker. Oh the secrets... the secrets that have been pushed down to the bottom of the ocean are resurfacing as well as a range of emotions. (Re-Write of my first story)


**Well, this is a revamp of my very first story, written about four years ago. Holy shit. It had 25 reviews, everyone was nice, and it sucked fucking ass. So, for my peace of mind, I'm fixing it. I'm mixing a little bit of everything, games, movies, comics, whatever. But it is the Dark Knight's Joker and Bruce I want. And I'll bullshit a name for Joker later.**

_It started with a glance._

_A glance in the lunch room, the Joker's face still painted with a concoction of who knows what. Bruce Wayne, simply there to meet with the Doctor in control of the intensive care unit for funding and contracts, was caught off guard by a cherry smeared smile and sparkling eyes that held life behind the hate._

_As Doctor Lang agreed to take the money, Wayne's visits became more frequent. Glanced… morphed, so to say, into stares of interest. Curiosity, albeit killed the cat, but simply made Bruce yearn for more contact… a conversation._

"_Well Mister Wayne, I appreciate all the work you've done for us at Arkham. You have no idea how much this will help the most violent of patients. Maybe we can cure them… or get them sane enough to get them into Black Gate." Doctor Lang tucked a black piece of hair behind her ear, nodding to the billionaire with a soft smile._

"_No problem, Doctor. I believe," his most charming smile danced upon his lips ", there are a few more papers of me to read and sign?"_

_Doctor Lang nodded, her lips over glossed with sheer dripping glitter like a five year old would wear, handed him a clipboard with a stack of papers._

"_The final stage. The cafeteria is empty, you can go finish up in there, I have a meeting with a patient. Drop it off in the mail slot on my door, I'll call you later this afternoon. Again, thank you for the funding." Another smile and nod, then Lang was gone, cheap heels clicking on the tile floor._

_Bruce moved into the café, sitting at the closest clean table. He started to read through the boring papers, mind wandering back to the man he knew… but who didn't know him. He wondered if he took his makeup off to sleep, if he cracked jokes with the doctors, played insane, played sane, or behaved in a way different from the man he locked up on a monthly basis. He let his fingers gently tap against the tabletop, no other sounds within the room._

_A knife, sharp and glistening with water, landed itself between his middle and ring finger._

"_Hello there…" The voice of the Joker was unmistakable. Bruce froze, for a mere second, to gauge his options. If he acted to tough, his role as Batman would be obvious. If he was too weak, the Joker would likely murder him if he wasn't of interest. The plan was to play middle when the time came._

"_Hello," Bruce turned, looking at the orange Arkham jumpsuit ", patient four-four-seven-nine. You've been watching my movements closely here."_

_The jokers lips perked into an 'O' shape, them morphing into a face splitting smirk. With a nod and a giggle, he removed the knife from the table and ran it along his fingertips._

"_Oh yesss," his 's' dragged on as his eyes shut and his knees faltered ", but you must have been watching me, to know I was watching you! Oh, I know who you are." His eyes grew dark and painful, as if it strained him to think. Bruce felt his inner throat tighten, but he didn't let his face faulter._

"_You are Bruce Wayne," his stress hit the floor with that ", Gotham's biggest… if not only playboy other than myself." Pushing green painted hair back as if it were made of gold strands, he almost earned a chuckle from Bruce. Despite his efforts, a ghost of a smirk painted the corners of his lips. He heard the Joker gasp and prod at his face, a light smack against his cheek for good luck and another laugh._

"_People will know you're not in your cell." Bruce slid the paperwork back, crossing a leg over another and looking to the villain, who was now leaning against the table in a far too casual way._

"_No one notices. All this… money, you're sinking into Arkham Asylum?" Waste. No one cares about me or Scarecrow not being in our cells, we're charming and harmless... well, persay. That little Doctor Harleen Quinnzel? She's eating out of the palm of my hand. Unless Crocy-poo gets out, no one really cares." His voice only in fluctuated here and there, remnants of a human being beneath of miles of make-up and charges. Bruce nodded, seeing where he was coming from._

Bruce felt his eyes lift and smiled softly at the memory that was his dream. He stretched, the mattress on the floor made him stiff. He looked over to the side to spot a green haired man hunched over over a broken mirror.

'You suure you don't want to come? I could use those… muscles elsewhere." The makeup smeared man crawled on all fours and released an animalistic growl before pouncing on him. Bruce caught him with large open arms and soft lips, red greasepaint pushing itself onto Bruce's lips.

"No, no. I have things to do for business, you jokester," Bruce laughed, holding his man tighter to his chest ", but go knock 'em dead." His partner let out a laugh of malice and intent, crawling back to reapply any smeared makeup.

"On my own." The man sighed, suddenly jumping up to his feet to get dressed in his purple suit.

"Good luck." Bruce called, rolling over, feeling a kiss on his cheek and a door open and shut.

Then he ran and ran hard.

**I'm also doing a Les Mis story which I update almost daily, so this story might be slow to update. It's basically just a re-write.**

**xoxoPN**


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